


Pornucopia

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Bedroom Sex, Body Worship, Can you believe it?, Cooking, Domestic Bliss, Food Kink, French Kissing, Humor, M/M, Making Love, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Porn With Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Punny Dean, Rimming, fruit kink, fruits, i surprised myself there, lots of analogies because I'm a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty minutes of Dean rummaging through the fridge passes and Cas calls him from the bedroom.</p><p>Dean’s not sure what he’s been expecting, but it certainly isn’t this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pornucopia

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On the Correct Storage of Rutabagas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236119) by [hit_the_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books). 



 

 

The chef’s knife slices Dean’s middle finger cleaner than a papercut, eliciting a _hiss_ out of the man.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Dean feels his eyes water pivoting just slightly to face Cas. The nose-curling stench of onions as Cas’s own chopping comes to a slow, conscientious pace, like an athlete’s resting heart rate, adds to the tension seeping into the two bedroom apartment.

“Just cut myself’s all,” he mumbles sheepishly, waving his hand around like a flag in a misguided storm. Cas turns around, eyes playing the role of the rain whipping across his hand. He puts his own under Dean’s, bending down to swipe his lips across his palm, and a flash flood warning shoots through Dean’s vertebrae.

“All better?” Cas inquires, a gummy smile pushing the ripened apples in his cheekbones.

Dean can’t help plucking them from the tree. “Perfect,” he confirms before a huff escapes him, “It’s just I hate this new diet. I’m a warrior; I eat _rabbits,_ not their food.”

Cas laughs, “You work in a garage.”

“I got stung by a bee once.”

“In the _patio,”_ Cas clarifies, “while you were watering the dracaena.”

“Which can be found in the jungle, point _is,_ ” Dean says, securing Cas into him like a seat belt, “I really, really, really miss cheeseburgers. I’m not even fat!”

Cas emulates a cat the way he paws Dean’s rumbling stomach. “It doesn’t matter if you’re Jack Skellington; you heard what Dr. Mills said. No steak or beef until that cholesterol’s under control. Besides, you haven’t even given the poor fruits a chance.”

“It’s their fault they’re so… you know…”

“Colorful?” Cas tries with a scoff, “Dean, you’re _bi._ I’m pan. I’d say we’re pretty fruity as stands.”

Dean groans leaning in to peck Cas on the lips, “I hate it when you’re right.” Then: “Even if you are nutty.”

“Call me whatever you want, if I see you eating nuts, I’ll be happy,” Cas prides. Dean grins around the slightly more open-mouthed kiss Cas plants on him, muttering something to the degree of, “ _Oh, I’ll be eating them, alright,_ ” although neither of them can be sure when Cas’s only support becomes the spine of the counter. That’s when Dean feels something bubble on Cas’s tongue, “I have an idea.”

Dean would’ve filed a complaint had his eyes not opened to the sight of Cas’s blossoming hydrangeas. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he growls, rubbing their half-hard roots together, “I want in.”

“Good. I’ll be back.”

Then Cas slips out of Dean’s embrace, leaving Dean to share his state with the rigid granite top. With a sigh, he swipes a filleted piece of red onion from the cutting board, throws it into his garbage disposal of a mouth, and spits it into the sink just as fast. _Maybe getting a guinea pig won’t be much of a discussion anymore_ , Dean thinks douching his mouth of the acidic taste, _at least then I’d_ look _like I’m actually eating this crap._

Twenty minutes of Dean rummaging through the fridge passes and Cas calls him from the bedroom.

Dean’s not sure what he’s been expecting, but it certainly isn’t this.

Laying on their drawn king bed like a Thanksgiving spread without the turkey is his partner in all his glory. Greeting Dean golden spread-eagle style isn’t the usual glistening and sweaty standing-at-attention soldier, but a vine of green grapes. To coordinate Jesus’ favorite holiday are pair of cherries to replace his perky nipples, and casing his mouth like a pig roast is a Granny Smith apple.

“ _Wow_ ,” is all he can pry from his lips. Cas buries his marshmallow brown hair—untouched, just like Dean likes it before they get down to business—into his pillow like he’s nosing for gold. Even after nine months, Dean still revels in the sight of Cas shying at the sight of him.

Cas removes the apple from his mouth to ask, “You like it? I was going to wait until tonight—”

“No,” Dean replies too quickly for both their liking. His dick’s pretty much calling the shots now. “I mean, no, I’m glad you didn’t wait. You look… you look like—”

“A cornucopia?” Cas tries, laughing with a slight hitch.

“A cornucopia fucked an angel,” Dean amends, treading to the foot of the bed like a pigeon stalking its lunch.

The next thing Dean knows, he’s following a single raspy command: “Strip.”

Once Dean’s clothes hug every square inch of the room, he crawls in-between Cas’s legs, careful not to ruin the set-up that has him rethinking family traditions, until his eyes align with the repositioned apple. “Did I ever tell you you’re the apple of my eye, baby?”

Dean can’t be sure, but Cas says something to the degree of, _“Ohayuckingod, ean, yust uck ee,”_ and Dean can’t stop himself from snapping his jaw and sinking his teeth into the apple.

Dean sits up, throwing his head back and moaning as the sour-sweet taste rides his tongue. He grins down at Cas, whose eyes are ballooned with lust as he spits out the fruit and leans up to meet Dean’s misbehaving lips.

Dean slops half the apple’s carcass into Cas’s warm mouth and Dean’s not sure if he’s arching into _him_ or the garbled taste of him. Either way, Cas slaves for Dean’s mouth, swallowing the apple as Dean kisses him slackly, taking the time to appreciate the pothole he so gracefully slid into.

They do this for a while until Dean’s mouth hungers for Cas’s neck, the hollow of throat, and that spot between his breasts Dean knows drives him crazy. Cas throws his head into the pillow again when Dean draws the first cherry into his mouth, taking the crown of Cas’s nipple with him.

The cherry’s a good antidote to the apple, and Dean does repeats the action on the other nipple. Amidst more lazy kisses and migrant hands, Dean elevates his chest and licks not one, but two confidently tied stems into his lover’s navel. 

“Fuck, Dean,” Cas breathes beneath him. Dean grins against his abdomen. He loves unraveling Cas like this—especially when it was initially Cas’s intention to unravel _him._

“Patience, baby,” he promises, dipping to meet Cas’s Adam and Eve clothing line.

Teasing, he pops one grape, the juice spraying all over Cas’s Curly Q’s. Two grapes and Cas’s right leg shifts closer to the edge of the bed. Three grapes and the vine whips across Cas’s stomach. Dean takes the goaded grapes into his mouth and pulls out to chew the rubbery fruit, drinking in Cas’s midnight black eyes just before he dives back in. Only then does Cas’s leg fall over the edge, but Dean’s not wasteful. He always cleans his plate at dinner.

“D-Dean,” he whimpers, “around, turn me…”

Dean smacks his lips. “With pleasure.” That’s when he catches sight of the item tucked between Cas’s flushed cheeks. “Is that a—?”

“Kiwi, precisely, yes,” Cas grits out between bated breaths.

A Cheshire grin stretches Dean’s face. “You prepped yourself for me?” Cas can only nod, and then Dean’s mouth is sucking and licking and pulling the fruit out as Cas clenches around him. “Too bad I’ll have to ruin this lovely arrangement,” he says, continuing his pace long after the seeds have been swallowed. Dean uses his fingers to pry him open again and, like sliding a card through a machine, licks a stripe, marking him.

He likes kiwis too.

In fact, he thinks as he rightfully answers Cas’s plea, fruit might just be his new cheeseburgers.

“All better?” Cas asks tiredly, cocooned around Dean like a fire blanket.

Dean responds to his inquiry with a soft kiss.

 

 


End file.
